


Warm Hands, Warmer Heart

by WhiskeysWorks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Comfort/Angst, Hand Jobs, Listen Hanzo is still really not okay, M/M, Post-Recall, Self-Loathing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeysWorks/pseuds/WhiskeysWorks
Summary: What peace did he truly deserve? What kindness was he warranted, other than that of an assassin making his death a quick one? Hanzo knew nothing of peace, had not since the night he struck Genji down. Even before that, since he was told his father had passed and the empire rested solely on his shoulders.A lifetime of nightmares and running from the demons he had created for himself was all he deserved, not peace. And yet...He found himself drawn to the idea nonetheless when it was Zenyatta who was offering it.
Relationships: Hanzo Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Warm Hands, Warmer Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I quite literally spent an hour or more looking for the horny tweet by the lovely Spicedrobot that inspired this but alas, I could not find it. 
> 
> Hanzo is a mess and vaguely mentioned to be suicidal. Zenyatta just wants to help him find forgiveness and learn to be loved again.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar was a charming place. The weather was usually nice and the view over the strait was pretty no matter what time Hanzo looked out at it. Late at night when all the other agents had long since gone back to their quarters, bottle of sake in hand to keep the nightmares at bay, whether he was asleep or awake, it did not matter. Early in the morning after a restless night, mind and body still convinced he was a man on the run, sunrise a spill of pinks and oranges. 

Sometimes, he would catch a glimpse of something shining on the cliffs. Did not need to check any further to know it was Genji and his master starting the day off meditating. They had asked him to join them, but Hanzo pushed away the offer with a shake of his head and a noncommittal “maybe next time”. Always, maybe next time. And every time the next one came, he said the same. Even when he saw the peace Genji had learned, when he knew it was an offer of kindness, the monk being the only person to not judge him when he had arrived, he still could not say more than “maybe next time”. 

Because what peace did he truly deserve? What kindness was he warranted, other than that of an assassin making his death a quick one? Hanzo knew nothing of peace, had not since the night he struck Genji down. Even before that, since he was told his father had passed and the empire rested solely on his shoulders. A lifetime of nightmares and running from the demons he had created for himself was all he deserved, not peace. 

He found himself drawn to the idea nonetheless, catching himself thinking about slipping out to the cliffs with them and taking a cup of tea that they always made afterwards, something other than longing and exhaustion filling his morning. Perhaps talking with Genji and rebuilding the relationship they once had, being brothers again. Of accepting forgiveness and moving on, as Genji had. 

Only, he was not Genji, never was. 

That was why he was in this mess in the first place. Because he had not been like Genji. He had been a puppet in disguise of the ever dutiful son and heir, did not know what to do with himself now that there was not someone pulling the strings. Ten years, and he was still struggling to learn how to walk on his own. Pathetic. 

Hanzo drank to his musings until he forgot about them along with his woes, stumbling back to his room after taking one last look out at the Gibraltar Strait, waters shimmering in the moonlight.

-

Zenyatta was something of a fascination to Hanzo. The way the monk floated was the most obvious and intriguing of the many other intricacies he hid, one that was never explained further than a mysterious quip about existence being a complicated thing. That was the second thing that drew Hanzo in: the way the monk spoke of things. The charm he held in conversations, the wit of his musings, the gentle intonations of his voice. He was so expressive even without a face to show it, Hanzo noticing little tilts of his head and movements of his shoulders and hands subtle indicators as to what he was feeling. 

He would listen to the conversations he and Genji shared, not reclusive enough to avoid his brother anymore, used to the way he looked, the new Genji. Sometimes, Zenyatta would address him too, asking his opinion on a certain matter. Then it was Genji’s turn to sit quietly and watch them talk curiously, that tilt of his head so similar to the monk’s. A knowing look in his eye when he took his faceplate off on the roof, sometimes making conversation, sometimes just sitting together and looking at the ocean. 

Hanzo found he liked those times, and seeing Genji’s eyes again was becoming less of a shock, a reminder, and more of an old, familiar comfort. Slowly, slowly, he was acclimating to his new life, and becoming a new person like Genji had. Cautiously taking up offers for sharing a meal or a drink. Having less nightmares and quieter moments in between them. 

Eventually, meditation was accepted, and Hanzo began to learn what forgiveness felt like. 

It felt like knowing Genji had been in good hands, that, while he had been in pain at one point, he was healed now. That he wanted Hanzo to heal like he had with the help of his master. Zenyatta was kind and offered a hand to him without resentment or judgement. 

The monk caught Hanzo’s attention in many ways, and the more he learned from him, the more he was starting to truly catch his eye. His lithe hands, always clasped in gentle reverence. The small snatch of his waist that he so openly displayed. The soft glow of his jieba, how they brightened when he smiled. When he smiled at Hanzo. It made him warm in a way he had not felt in many years. Longing for something he knew he should not have, something he did not deserve. 

Fantasizing in the quiet of his own thoughts, but never allowing it to go further than that. Ashamed of himself, in a sense. Dreaming of a monk in such ways, especially one that he could now technically be calling master. That only made things worse. 

Hanzo sighed against the lip of his sake bottle, closing his eyes briefly to rid the thoughts and clear his mind as much as the alcohol would allow. At least it was easier to get to an empty space in his mind with it. Foggy and warm, old memories obscured, nightmares avoided. And yet, even the sake could not stop his body from sensing someone coming up behind him. Too trained to watch for a knife in his back, as much as he sometimes dreamed of it. 

Not an honourable death, though, it was still death. Hanzo craved dark emptiness like a parched man craved water. All consuming and always there in the back of his mind. Good days, bad days, fine days, it did not matter. Yet, his head still turned, body stiffening, ready to fight. A gentle hand on his shoulder was enough for him to identify them as Zenyatta, lithe fingers just as warm as they always were, leaving a burning sensation after they slid off to rest back in the monk’s lap as he sat next to Hanzo. 

The archer stared out off the roof without really seeing, waiting for Zenyatta to say something first, as always.

“It is late, Hanzo. You should be resting, we have training in the morning. You need your strength, not a hangover,” he chimed, concern weaved through the well-meaning jest. Hanzo sighed heavily, glancing at the monk. Eyes lingering on the pistons on his neck, the softer wires just beneath that. Wondered just briefly how they would feel beneath his teeth.

“Hangover or no, the training will be simple. I have drank more and had my life on the line by the next morning, and I still survived.”

“I do not doubt your abilities, Hanzo. I am simply suggesting you take better care of yourself now that your life is, as you say, no longer on the line. You can afford to sleep comfortably and not drink your nights away. You are healing, do not fall back into old, destructive habits.”

“Old, destructive habits are one of the few comforts I have, do not take them from me,” Hanzo murmured, Zenyatta tilting his head.

“Are they truly a comfort, though?”

“More than anything else in my life has been.”

There was silence between them for a long moment, Hanzo about to lift the sake gourd back to his lips before that hand stopped him.

“And what if I was to offer you a different comfort?"

Zenyatta’s voice took a tone Hanzo had not heard before, something he wanted to follow. Soft and silky, deepening just slightly at the end. The archer turned to him, surprised to find his gaze matched, the monk’s jieba bright in the darkness. Alluring in the moonlight. Both hands seeping warmth into him, one still on his arm, the other resting on his knee. Nothing demanding, but the promise of more was there in the gentle rubbing of his thumbs. 

Something wanting, in the same way Hanzo felt. Or maybe he was reading too far into it. 

He stared at the monk, brows furrowing slightly, waiting for him to take it back, to let go, to leave him to his own devices. Only, he did not. This time, Hanzo was forced to say something first.

“What...Do you mean?”

“Take me to your room, and I will show you.”

-

What Hanzo had not expected was to be the one leaning back, the monk sitting on his legs and slowly running his fingers over the archer’s chest. Sliding them across his toned abdomen, up to his pecs, and over his shoulders.

“You deserve gentleness, Hanzo. For it to be shown to you, and for you to treat yourself to it. I will teach this to you, too, if you will allow me,” Zenyatta murmured, voice hushed, just for the shared space between them. Hanzo stared up at him, chest rising and falling too heavily already, swallowing as Zenyatta’s hands curled into his hair and pulled it out from its high ponytail. Ran his fingers through it, brushed it behind his ear before caressing his hand down Hanzo’s jaw and tilting his chin up.

“I see the thoughts in your eyes, Hanzo. Tell me what is on your mind, and let me ease it.”

“I do not...”

“You do not what?”

“I do not deserve any of your kindness. I am a killer, how could you possibly want...Anything from me?”

“Oh, Hanzo, if only you could see yourself the way I do,” Zenyatta whispered, closing the space they had and pressing his mouthplate to Hanzo’s lips. And it was warm, just like the rest of him, leaving a pleasant little shock of energy tingling from every touch.

“If only you could feel how much I want you, understand how much I adore you...”

Zenyatta punctured each statement with another kiss to Hanzo’s cheeks, over his eyes, one pressed to his forehead. Taking his time, hands always on him, feeling, caressing, exploring. Slipping beneath his shirt and rucking it up as he moved with it, Hanzo startling at the roll of his hips, Zenyatta grinding down against him.

“W-wait—"

Zenyatta stopped, array flashing brighter, head tilting. Hanzo stared up at him, chest rising and falling, controlled now.

“Why are you really doing this...?”

A sigh, Zenyatta touching his face with his fingertips. Gentle. Reverent, even. Hanzo did not understand it.

“Because, Hanzo. You enamour me. You make me feel things that I know were not programmed into me. I want you in every way I can imagine. Is that truly so hard to believe?”

Yes, Hanzo wanted to say. There was so much he wanted to say, but always, it stuck in his throat. A habit that had driven him apart from Genji, had thrown him into this hell in the first place. He did not want Zenyatta to be next.

“I...Cannot hurt you too...” Hanzo finally whispered, trying to convey what he needed Zenyatta to understand. That he was dangerous. That he was a monster. He had murdered his own brother, what made Zenyatta think he was safe, that Hanzo was worthy of...This?

“You will not. I know you will not. I trust you, Hanzo.“

Hanzo stared up at the monk, equal parts awe and hopeful. He did not know how Zenyatta could say such a thing with such utter certainty, but it made Hanzo feel things he did not quite know how to identify. Warmth in his chest, his mind clearing without the help of alcohol, for once. He nodded, closing his eyes as Zenyatta pressed their foreheads together.

“Will you let me take care of you tonight?” he whispered, Hanzo swallowing thickly.

“Yes.”

Another tilt of his head, the monk smiling once more and kissing him softly.

“Thank you.”

Hanzo leaned back as Zenyatta pushed his shirt off all the way, feeling over the newly revealed skin, leaving it tingling and heated. Kissing down his chest with those little shocks of energy, Hanzo’s breath catching as the monk reached his navel. Sat between his legs, running his hands over the archer’s powerful thighs. Just feeling. Making Hanzo feel with him.

“Zen...” he groaned when the monk teased his fingers over the outline of his erection still trapped in his pants.

“Patience, I will give you what you want in time.”

Hanzo grit his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as Zenyatta slowly drew down his pants and pulled his cock free, thumb gently circling the already leaking head. He had never been one to pleasure himself often, even in his youth. Too busy with work, and then self-loathing quickly took away all notions of giving himself any pleasures at all. But Zenyatta’s hands were better than he could have ever imagined. 

They were smooth and delicate, the fine divots and notches creating a feeling no human hand could compare to. He was already a mess, biting his lip to quiet the soft sounds of pleasure that were stolen from him with every precise stroke of Zenyatta’s hand. Then, those lithe fingers slipped lower, circling Hanzo’s hole curiously. The archer choked on a strangled sound, one hand going over his face, covering his mouth. Zenyatta hummed, pressing his finger against it, teasing his way inside slowly, slowly.

“Mmh...Zen, please...” Hanzo whimpered, the monk hushing him gently.

“Patience. Let me explore you first, my darling. Let me get to know your body.”

Hanzo huffed and struggled to find air to breathe, back arching when Zenyatta’s finger breached him and wiggled in to the second knuckle. Teased him until the burning sensation faded to something pleasant, something he wanted more of. Hanzo grabbed his cock when Zenyatta added a second finger, only getting two harsh strokes in before the monk set his hand over his.

“You do not have to be so rough with yourself, Hanzo. Not everything has to be a punishment, you have already been forgiven. Let me do this for you.”

It was all too much, too gentle for him, too slow, not enough. Hanzo gripped at the sheets to occupy his hands while Zenyatta gave him everything and took him apart, eyes going to the ceiling, blinking back tears. From overstimulation or something else, he dare not say. 

Zenyatta’s hands worked him steadily, toes curling as his hips bucked into it, the monk swirling his palm up and down the shaft, straining and red as it was. Moved his fingers to the sounds of Hanzo’s pleasure, learning, hitting all the right places, making waves of pleasure crest just before they were tamped down again. Made Hanzo beg for it with his body when his voice stopped working, keeping that slow pace until Hanzo gasped and came in thick spurts, orgasm wracking through his whole body, intense in a way he had never felt before. 

Dragged out, Zenyatta taking his time milking him through it, making sure he felt it all until he was shuddering and grabbing the monk’s wrist. Zenyatta hummed and pulled away, array dimming as he gazed down at the archer. Hanzo groaned, though, he did not let go of Zenyatta’s arm. Did not want to have this all be another fantasy or dream he conjured, did not want Zenyatta to leave him.

“I am here, Hanzo,” Zenyatta assured, as if reading his mind, body warm as he pressed himself closer. Voice lowered and almost husky sounding, in a way. As if he had enjoyed it as much as Hanzo did. 

He waited for Hanzo to catch his breath, eyes closed and body relaxing, the monk stroking over his thighs and abdomen as he simply floated through the afterglow. Almost fell asleep, Zenyatta’s gentleness making him feel safe for the first time in over ten years. And then, the monk was pressing his forehead against his, a quiet hum vibrating in his synth. Hanzo almost did not catch the words that followed.

“I love you, Hanzo.”

Perhaps it really was just a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ;)


End file.
